


Till Death Do Us Part

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After locking away the Apple of Eden Altair closes his eyes in Masyaf, but when he opened his eyes again he found himself in a hospital.</p><p>There aren't always second chances in life, but no one deserves to die alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Blame this post that showed up on my dashboard reminding me today was the day Altair died.

Altair could remember a time when his body didn't ache, when injuries could be brushed off as he pushed himself further and harder. Those times seemed distant now, like a faded keepsake whose colours were muted by time.

When he made his way through the library, his body protested until he sat down fully with a soft sigh. Altair was alone when he closed his eyes, awaiting the oblivion of death when he hear a strange sound. A steady, high pitch sound like nothing he had heard before and it made him open his eyes with a frown.

The room he found himself in was brighter than the library (crypt) he had been in. Even the chair he was sitting on was white, the material it was made from seemed thin and flimsy but it supported his weight well enough. Altair blinked until his eyes adjusted to the light and then he noticed there was a bed in front of him. The blankets covering it was a pale blue and there was an old man lying on it. The man's clothes were strange, but that was not what made Altair stare. The face was more worn, littered with wrinkles (the most prominent one being the one across the man's forehead where his brows creased in a frown), but Altair would know those eyes, that nose, that _face_ anywhere.

"Malik." The name was the barest of a whisper and it could have easily been drowned out by the sound of the contraption by the bed that this Malik seemed to be attached to.

"You're dead." Malik said and his voice was so tired and old but still so very obviously _Malik_. It was a glimpse into what might have been had their lives played out differently. "You died years ago. I was the one who buried you." There was an accusation there, dulled by decades, accepted and let go of but still so very damning despite it.

But they had both been left alone in the end, hadn't they?

Malik's frown deepened as he attempted to sit up and Altair hurriedly (as much as he could in this old body), stood to help him. The way Malik grumbled about not needing to be coddled was met with a crooked smile. When they managed, with much exasperation on Malik's part and confusion on Altair's, to get the bed set up so he was sitting comfortably, they sat for a moment to stare.

Altair was the first to reach out to take Malik's hand and was surprised by the softness of it. The sword callouses he had built up over the years were not there and it felt so frail in Altair's own that it was almost foreign. Yet, when Altair brought the hand up, Malik turned it to brush his knuckles against Altair's lips in a gesture so familiar it made Altair's heart ache.

"I've missed you." Altair said and the words were misplaced, but they also felt right when Malik's eyes softened and his fingers curled around Altair's.

"I've missed you too." Malik sniffled, then he laughed and the sound was wet and far too quiet, "Look at what you've done. I'm too old to be crying like this." 

Altair smiled in spite of himself. "I apologize."

Another sniff, "You say that but you don't sound sorry at all." Then it was, "Will you stay this time? Until the end?"

"Yes." His back protested when he leaned over to place a kiss on Malik's forehead as if sealing the promise, a gesture Malik accepted with his eyes closed and his mouth curved into a smile, "Will you?"

"Yes." Malik said as his fingers brushed over Altair's cheeks, before his palm settled over over his jaw, "you won't be alone."

Altair Ibn-La'Ahad  
Died August 12, 1257  
Aged 92 

Malik Al-Sayf  
Husband of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad  
Born May 8, 1923  
Died August 12, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> There is a great deal implied by the dates at the end, though if you don't want your heartbroken further it might be best if you don't try to understand what I was trying to do with them and what these implications are. (Love yourself, don't think about it too hard.)


End file.
